He moved around the stage, circling slowly so that he could address the full audience. The lights were blinding, and Charlie wasn’t sure how much he could see. Until he paused in front of her and smiled. That was when she knew he saw everything. Absolutely everything.
“So let me ask you. Do you believe in yourself? Do you believe you deserve happiness and prosperity? Because that’s where you have to start.”
Four big-screen TVs were mounted above the stadium seating. He was up there in brilliant Technicolor, and she watched his larger-than-life image as he moved around the stage. Most people would have been dwarfed by the huge screens, but Sebastian looked stronger than ever. Charlie couldn’t help a fleeting wish that his parents had lived to see him on stage, just once, to see that he’d made something amazing of himself. And that he hadn’t given up, even though they’d disappointed him time and time again.
“Opportunity doesn’t suddenly come your way once you start believing in yourself,” he continued. “It’s that you finally recognize the opportunities already there because you believe they deserve to be there.”
He’d walked into her yard full of scraps and sculptures and offered her the world. But he was right—he’d been there because she’d had the guts to stomp up the parish steps of that Chinatown church and tell them they needed her dragon. One opportunity had brought her another. And another.
Best of all, it had brought Sebastian.
She read the same thoughts in the people around her, the way they were all looking inward, acknowledging the things they’d done right, considering the changes they needed to make.
“Some of you probably know about my childhood. About where I came from. It wasn’t pretty. Wasn’t fun. Wasn’t happy. So if I could do it, if I could learn how to believe that I deserved happiness, then you can too.” He spoke to her. He spoke to everyone. Fifty thousand people were completely silent, no whispering, no chattering. No one left for a soda or a hotdog or to use the restroom. They couldn’t bear to miss a thing, drinking in his every word.
Wanting to believe.
Listening to Sebastian, watching him, feeling him, Charlie wanted to believe too. In this moment, he made her feel as though she truly could do anything. Better yet, he made her feel that she wanted it all too. That she should ignore her hesitation to reach out and grab the glittering brass and diamond rings, and go for it with all she had. Maybe the thought of being a huge star in the art world still didn’t sit quite right with her, but she could learn to be comfortable with the thought of being successful. She could do it. Sebastian helped her believe.
“It’s not about the money.” He laughed, holding up a hand. “I know what you’re thinking. Yeah, right.” He brushed his palms down his expensive suit. “Seriously, though,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, “money is great, and I hope all of you make a lot of it doing what you love, but in the end it’s not about the money. Not if you get rich but hate your job while you’re doing it. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” He was greeted with shouts of agreement. “You deserve to enjoy what you do. You deserve to have a job that’s a vocation, that has meaning, that gives you satisfaction, and makes you feel like you’re giving something back.” He paused again with impeccable timing, letting the audience ponder. “Let’s talk about how to figure that out.”
An hour and a half seemed like mere minutes as he offered up a clear-cut pathway to opportunity and success. But Sebastian went a step further—he made it personal too, by telling everyone more about his parents, his struggles, about never feeling he was good enough. Then he told them how he’d had people who believed in him, like his adopted mom and dad, Susan and Bob, and his friends. He explained that they’d helped him learn how to believe in himself.
“You don’t have to do this all alone. But you can make changes.” His voice rang out. “You can do anything. Absolutely anything.” He stepped back, drank from his water glass, and for a long moment, he held the big tumbler in front of him, staring, until he turned back to his audience, his fans, his devotees. “We’re almost done, but before I leave, I want to tell you about a lovely lady I met a few weeks ago.”
Charlie’s heart did a somersault as his eyes found and held hers for a split second.
“Francine is the sweetest thing. Tiny.” He held out his palm to demonstrate her height against his chest. “She’s friendly, upbeat, always with a smile or a laugh even though she has severe arthritis and uses a walker to get around. Most people would be in a wheelchair or bedridden. All her finger joints have been replaced.” He held up the tumbler. “Imagine not being able to hold this glass in one hand. Imagine that even two-handed, this glass would slip out of your fingers.” He let it slide until it almost fell, catching it at the last second. “Imagine you couldn’t jog down the stairs, that your ankle bones had disintegrated and the only thing holding each foot together was a steel bolt and some staples. Imagine your vertebrae had to be fused just so you could hold your head up. Imagine the shocking pain. And yet—” He held up the glass again, pausing. There was complete silence, unbroken by even the whisper of fifty thousand breaths. “And yet, every single day you get up and you walk a mile. No matter what.” As Sebastian set down the glass, he said, “Do you know how much farther a mile is for her than for you and me?”
Charlie knew. Sebastian obviously did as well. Though he was a good thirty feet away on the stage, she could feel his anguish at not being able to help as if it were her own. Which it always had been. Until he walked into their lives and tried to help in any way he could.
“Francine tells me that if she didn’t walk, she’d be in a wheelchair or a bed. Use it or lose it.” He made air quotes to show that they were Francine’s words. “There are days she doesn’t want to. Days when she can barely move because the pain is too great.” His voice dropped almost to a whisper that echoed in the auditorium. “But then she gets up, aims her walker, and starts that mile.”
Emotion squeezed Charlie’s chest as he said, “So I ask you, can you walk a mile? Every day, rain or shine, pain or gain, because you know you have to just to stay alive, just to breathe. Can you walk that mile?”
And Charlie began to cry.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Charlie couldn’t hear Sebastian’s closing words as everyone in the auditorium rose to their feet with thunderous applause, their unspoken answer to his question perfectly clear: Yes, they would all walk that mile. Simply because Sebastian Montgomery believed they could.
On the way out, he grabbed Charlie’s hand and they were propelled down the aisle to a small reception in the green room. Everyone wanted to touch him, as though something magical might rub off. He was polite, friendly, and accepted compliments with humility.
The most amazing thing of all was that he acted no differently at the reception than he had on stage. He was the same man who’d walked into her studio and said her art was magnificent. The same man who’d told her all about his parents and upbringing after dinner at his house. The same man who’d driven her wild with need every second of every day since they’d met.
He had power no matter where he was, but it didn’t come from arrogance. It had come from walking many long miles, the way her mother continued to do every single day.
Two hours later they were ushered out and into a waiting helicopter that flew them to the airport. In the VIP lounge, finally alone with Sebastian for a few moments, she said, “Thank you for letting me see you in action.”
“It was my pleasure.” He reached out to stroke her cheek. “I’ve been privileged to see what you do. I was hoping you would enjoy this.”